


So Level Up and Love Again

by labocat



Category: Free!, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Selkie AU, fate au, poolboy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills for the bonus rounds of SASO 2015. Ratings, pairings, and series will vary. Each chapter will have details in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Makoto/Haru, Selkie AU, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill: http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4403.html?thread=1139507#cmt1139507 
> 
> " **Haru is a selkie.**
> 
>  **Makoto has his skin.** "

He didn’t even notice it at first; there were so many things in the boxes his great aunt’s estate brought over that a dark pelt hardly caught the eye. Makoto had meant to unpack them as soon as they’d been brought in, the four cardboard boxes stacked in a corner. He’d looked through the top items - mostly knick-knacks and flatware, things that a single 20-year-old in a cramped apartment had little use for - setting aside things that might have been of use. Later, he’d realize that his hand had brushed the pelt, but the shock that had run through him at the time had made him stop, his nerves humming and a shudder tingling down his spine. 

He pushes it to the back of his mind, the boxes just another to-do-list item. Right up until the mysterious young man shows up at his door.

At his door isn’t quite correct; he comes home one day to find the way to his apartment door blocked - for once not by the neighborhood stray cats who have figured out that he’s always good for some pets and fish if he has it - by someone completely absorbed in trying to peer into his apartment window.

Makoto can’t quite help but stare - he doesn’t seem to be trying to break in, but he is absorbed enough in trying to see something through the window that he still hasn’t noticed Makoto standing there, plastic bags of groceries rustling almost guiltily. Makoto wonders if it’d be rude to clear his throat before remembering that it’s his apartment.

“Um...can I help you?”

The stranger doesn’t even start at the sound of Makoto’s voice, instead turning fluidly to face Makoto and tilting his head slightly.

“Do you have it?”

It seems all Makoto’s been able to do for the past few minutes is blink in confusion and that that is unlikely to change. 

“Have...it?”

The stranger nods, just once, and looks directly at Makoto. He’s taken slightly aback at how clear his eyes are, even under a heavy-lidded gaze, almost as if they were made from the ocean itself.

“My skin.”

Well, at least Makoto’s plenty practiced in blinking confusedly now. “I...don’t...isn’t it attached to you?” The stranger doesn’t seem dangerous, but this conversation is starting to make less and less sense.

“I lost it.”

Nope, definitely not helping. But he can’t just leave the stranger outside on the walkway like this, especially if he’s going to continue peering in through the window. What would his neighbors think?

“I, I guess you should come inside and I can see if I can help.” His arms were starting to ache from holding the grocery bags for so long, and this was clearly not a conversation to be had in public. He sighed and pushed gently past the stranger who was looking curiously at him, but of course not moving.

“How do you know your...skin is here?” Removing his shoes and moving inside to set the groceries down, Makoto looks around his small apartment. Surely he’d know if there was a human skin around here - he barely had enough room for his own things, after all.

“I can feel it.” He apparently had no trouble removing his shoes and coming inside to sit down, eyes sweeping from one side of the room to the other and back to Makoto. “It’s here.”

He sounds so _sure_ that Makoto doesn’t have the heart to argue with him, to tell him that he moved every item in the apartment in himself and had never come across anything odd. Even his aunt’s boxes were full of normal things, not even clothes. He’s about to tell the stranger that he’s welcome to look around and stay for dinner, but the stranger speaks up first, his voice sharp, instead of the low, almost lazy shortness from before.

“Do you want to marry me?”

It’s only by virtue of the kitchen being so small that Makoto can instantly catch himself on the table that he doesn’t trip and fall.

“W- _what_??”

“That’s what it means, why people steal our skins. So that we’re forced to marry them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t have your skin!” His mind can’t even parse the plural right now, his face too red and mind too flustered.

“Look. I’m going to cook myself dinner; I’ll cook some for you too if you’d like to look around, but I don’t have any skin other than my own, and I certainly don’t want to marry you - I don’t even know your name!”

“Haru.”

Makoto’s back to blinking, his outburst cut short. “What?”

“My name. It’s Haru.”

Makoto can’t help but sigh, deflating a little. Way to take the most normal of those points to answer. But no matter. “The invitation still stands. Look around if you’d like, but I’m going to start cooking.” And with that, he turns his back to Haru’s quizzical gaze to take a deep, calming breath. Cooking is calming in its simplicity. He’s able to let himself focus on not letting the fish burn or the rice overcook rather than the fact that he likely has a crazy person sitting in his apartment. Hopefully after a quick search, it would become clear that he didn’t have Haru’s skin or whatever he was really looking for, and he would move on. Even if his chest did give a small pang at the thought of Haru continuing to search random apartments. It didn’t seem like he had anywhere to be or people to contact.

“I hope you like fish; the market was having a sale on mackerel today.” He puts down the plate quickly in front of Haru, who surprisingly, didn’t look like he’d moved while Makoto had been cooking. He refused to let himself feel embarrassed for how simple the meal was - he’d had no way of knowing to prepare for a guest, after all - but he finds himself watching for Haru’s reaction to the fish all the same. 

There was no reason to worry, from the way Haru digs into the fish with surprising swiftness, chopsticks separating fish from bone with ease and dexterity. He seems to savor each bite, and when he looks up at Makoto, several bites in, even though his expression is calm, his eyes are shining. Makoto ducks his head and focuses yet again on the fish. 

After dinner, even after being given permission, Haru seems to let Makoto take the lead, instead trailing after him around the apartment while Makoto opens closets and rifles through drawers. Finally, Makoto unstacks the boxes in the back closet, and as he lifts the boxes, Haru seems to tense, more alert than Makoto had seen him. Following his gut feeling, Makoto lifts the box that had been stacked on the bottom and carries it out of the closet, opening it. Haru is suddenly by his side, hands deep in the box, moving aside candlesticks and napkins before withdrawing suddenly, a dark cloth clutched protectively in his hands.

Though, as he stands and Makoto stares, it becomes clear it’s not a tablecloth at all but a...pelt? Haru’s eyes are darting between Makoto and the door he’s currently unintentionally blocking even though the only motion he makes is to tighten his hands around the sleek pelt.

“But...that’s...an animal skin.” And Haru was, definitely, human. Right?

“Let me go.”

“I’m not going to trap you here, I promise.” His hands are up in front of him, placating, without even realizing it. “Just...explain it to me? Please?” His mind is whirling, trying to make sense of what’s in front of him, piecing together the story he realizes Haru has been dropping, piece by fragmented piece, all night. A story he hasn’t heard since he was a child, from, he realizes with a start, his great-aunt.

Haru stares at him for a long moment, blinking slowly. But his shoulders do drop, a fraction of tension released as his grip on the pelt becomes more reassuring and less protective. 

“Cooked mackerel tastes better than raw mackerel. Someone stole my skin a year ago while I was out for some, and I’ve been looking for it. You had it.” Simple. As if that explains every question Makoto had, instead of raising more.

He sighs, not taking his eyes from Makoto's, “I think the term for my kind is selkie.”

Things click into place, and Makoto can feel his body moving aside, giving Haru a clear path to the door, but never taking his eyes off of him. It couldn’t be real, but nothing gives him the feeling that Haru is lying. He watches, silently, as Haru slips to the door, sliding into shoes and ducking out of the apartment. It only takes a moment before he’s shaking himself out of it, roughly pulling on shoes and chasing Haru down the stairs. Chasing him, he realizes with a start, to the seawall. 

The wind whips Haru’s hair as he stands on the wall, dark pelt wrapped around him like a blanket, blending him into the night aside from where the streetlamps catch his eyes as he watches Makoto approach. He blinks once, slowly, before nodding and diving off of the wall. The pelt stays around him even as his arms come up over his head, seeming to spread up over them before he disappears under the water.

Makoto runs to the wall, leaning out over the waves, half-waiting for Haru’s head to pop out of the water. The story sinks in as moments tick by as it doesn’t. Instead, he shouts, hoping the wind will carry his voice.

“Good luck! Be careful! Keep your pelt safe if you come up for mackerel again!”

In the darkness, he thinks he sees a head, not human, pop out of the water and look towards the shore. Feeling foolish, he turns home and resolves to go through the rest of his aunt’s boxes to try and prevent any more...surprises.

Little does he know he’s in for another one the next week, when the walkway to his apartment is blocked, yet again. By Haru, again. His surprise is compounded by the way Haru is holding what is clearly his pelt, neatly folded so that it looks like nothing more than a blanket, and leaning against his door.

“Haru, what…”

Haru simply steps aside to let him unlock the door and follows him inside before holding out the folded pelt. 

“You said to keep it safe next time I was out of the water. You’re safe; it’s safe with you.”

“But...why?”

“I saw you buying mackerel at the market today. I told you; cooked mackerel tastes better than raw mackerel, and you cook it best of all.” And with that, he sits down at the table and looks expectantly at Makoto, who can only sigh and turn towards the burners, a smile spreading across his face.


	2. Ushijima/Oikawa, Poolboy AU, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill: http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4403.html?thread=1220915#cmt1220915
> 
> "Ushiwaka is new money eurotrash, and Oikawa is the ambitious pool boy."

It had seemed like a _fantastic_ idea at the time: get a summer job - whatever he can get - at one of the mansions lining the cliff, make connections, get his name out there, sleep with a few celebrities, get noticed, become a star. Easy. 

He hadn’t counted on his boss being a total. fucking. asshole.

It was totally unfair, the way he refused to throw big parties or have lots of friends over, preferring to only attend to select functions and only invite the same handful of friends to his house. It meant that Oikawa’s days were full of just a lot of pool cleaning, scooping out the endless leaves that dropped into the water - it was summer, weren’t they supposed to wait for another couple months??? - and more importantly, that his focus had to switch from attracting from a large pool of people to just one.

Fortunately, it wasn’t hard, with the way that his “uniform” could be adjusted to leave absolutely _nothing_ to the imagination, or with the way that he could scoop leaves out at _just_ the right angle, legs and back straight, ass presented. And how somehow all the leaves seemed to gather at the end that the lounge chairs sat, and only at the times when his boss was present.

No one ever said subtlety was a requirement for the job.

Though pressing his employer up against the wall and kissing him as hands roamed sun-warmed skin and he invited the dense asshole he _knows_ has been staring at his ass all summer to do the same _might_ have been crossing the line.

But by the way he can feel hands tightening on his hips and Ushiwaka’s mouth opening under his, he’s probably fine.

He’s not expecting the way Ushijima spins them around, however, the hands on his hips giving him leverage to push Oikawa back only to immediately press back in. Oikawa’s back relaxes against the wall as every space is full of Ushijima, the smell of warm skin and suntan oil filling his nose as he breathes in. It’s more of a reaction than he ever expected out of his employer, who has spent the summer tossing out blunt comments and even blanker stares. 

“Why, Ushiwaka-chan, I had no idea,” he breathes out, and the growl he gets in response is the best reaction he’s gotten all summer. He can’t help but gasp as Ushijima’s hand grasps under his thigh to wrap it around his hip, and he uses the extra leverage to press himself in even further, revelling in the feel of skin on skin. There’s so much, so many points of contact. His head is spinning with it, and he’s abruptly thankful his employer has given in and abandoned the trunks he started the summer with for the tight speedo favored by the locals. 

“Don’t call me that.” Punctuated with a roll of his hips, and Oikawa’s head is spinning again, hands grasping at Ushijima’s shoulders.

“Why not? That’s your name, after all. And Ushijima Wakatoshi is such. A. Mouthful.” He’s pulled away entirely from Ushijima’s mouth, instead pressing kisses up his neck. The way he can start to feel each individual nail on Ushijima’s hands on the skin of his hips makes him think his double meaning has not been lost, denseness and all.

“You are infuriating.” It takes everything Oikawa has not to laugh; even so, a huff of breath escapes as he scrapes teeth along Ushijima’s earlobe and grinds against the hardness and heat he can feel through the thin fabric of their swimsuits.

“That’s kind of the point.” No one ever got anywhere by sitting back and being meek, after all. And as much fun as rutting against Ushiwaka is, he has bigger plans, bigger dreams, and a boss in front of him to impress.

So he bites down, right on Ushiwaka’s pulse point, and uses the slackness of surprise to lower his leg and sink to his knees. Of course making sure to do so as sinuously as possible; it wouldn’t do to let all those weeks of demonstrating his flexibility go to waste here, after all.

It’s easy to pull down speedos, the lack of fabric making it easy to run hands appreciatively over the large expanse of Ushijima’s thighs before even getting to the suit, but it’s so much more fun to do it slowly. He rolls the fabric down, mouth hovering over skin and licking along tanlines revealed centimeter by centimeter and resolutely avoiding the way Ushijima’s cock is straining against the tight material. He can feel Ushijima’s thighs tensing under his hands, and he looks up with a cheeky grin, simply breathing hotly over it.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you patience, Ushiwaka-chan?” Ushijima’s eyes darkening, flashing with more interest and emotion that he’s witnessed all summer is worth the rough way his hands bury in Oikawa’s hair, trying to press him subtly forward. 

It’s nice to know he’s not the only one who can’t do subtlety.

He wants this though, oh god he wants this; he can’t deny the way his mouth falls open when he rolls down the rest of Ushiwaka’s suit and his cock, holy fuck his giant cock, bounces up towards his stomach. Oikawa has to restrain himself from falling on it; teasing is far more fun, and he wants to see what other reactions he can pull from Ushiwaka, how far he can stretch his patience. And his own, for that matter.

He knows it won’t be long, by the way he can see precum already beading at the tip and the way the kisses he means to be barest presses of his mouth are turning into licks and all but wrapping his mouth around Ushijima’s length. He can hear Ushijima’s breathing getting harsher, and he takes pride in the way his hand tightens in his hair. It spurs him on, and the break in his patience is _totally_ worth the gasp and moan that spills from Ushijima’s mouth. Even better, the way he brings his other hand up to his mouth, trying to prevent it from happening again.

Too bad it’s now Oikawa’s goal to make them escape endlessly. And so he truly begins, head bobbing shallowly to be able to set a pace to make Ushiwaka’s knees shake. Covering the rest with his hand and relishing the way Ushijima’s hand leaves his mouth to grasp his shoulder, pulsing and digging in with his rhythm, he sucks lightly, trying to draw out more sounds. As he continues, he has to shift, no longer able to ignore the way his own hips are starting to rock back and forth. He adjusts his balance so that he can press one hand down on his aching erection, leaning further against the hand Ushijima has braced against him. 

They both start to falter, Oikawa’s moan setting off a chain reaction: Ushijima’s choked groan, hand tightening in his hair, followed by the way Oikawa jerks as the motion causes the tip of Ushijima’s cock to hit the back of his throat. He has to pull back slightly, but sucks deeply, cheeks hollowing, and he knows Ushijima is watching without looking up by the way his appreciation tinges the surprised moan it pulls out. 

The sounds, though still choked off, are coming more frequently now, markers of Oikawa’s progress and skill, and both his hand and mouth move faster. A quick succession of them are all the warning Oikawa gets, and Ushiwaka is lucky that Oikawa had already decided to swallow as more proof of his skill and attention to detail. He sucks Ushijima through it, his own hand working furiously, leaning back at the last moment to try and aim his release so that at least some of it splashed against Ushiwaka’s legs. He sits back with satisfaction, letting the wall hold him up as he knows what a good picture he makes, looking up at Ushijima. 

“So, Ushiwaka-chan, turns out you aren’t so boring after all.” The heat in Ushijima’s eyes has lessened, but Oikawa’s surprised to find that the emotion hasn’t left with it. Has he missed something, hidden behind sunglasses?

“You’re very good at that. You must have had lots of practice.” Aaaaaand there it was, moment ruined. Oikawa rolls his eyes, slapping Ushi _baka_ ’s leg lightly. Yes, that was kind of the point, but holy shit, he had no tact.

“Don’t ruin it! Don’t you know how to just enjoy a good thing?”

“It’s your own fault if you found me boring previously.”

Oikawa just sighs heavily and rolls his eyes before looking back up and smirking, the hand that had smacked Ushijima’s leg running lightly up and down it. “Well, you have all summer to change my mind.”

Maybe he’d get somewhere with this job after all.


	3. Oikawa/Sugawara, Canon compliant, G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa/Sugawara
> 
> "Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in day out" - Robert Collier  
> Originally posted: http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4049.html?thread=272593#cmt272593

Oikawa Tooru is not a genius.

 

But he must fight them.

...How do you scale an unscalable wall, close even the tiniest distance in that great expanse with anything but puddle after puddle of sweat, with one impossible handhold up that wall at a time?

Each echo of the ball in the gym - the only sound after the sun has gone down and Iwa-chan is the only one around (leaning against the doorjamb and yelling "enough already" at him) - each twinge in his knee as they stretch, each jump, higher and higher, each change in expression on their opponent's faces as they step onto the court is another rung on the ladder he will use to vault over the wall called genius. 

He grits his teeth at Tobio, sticks out his tongue, digs deeper into himself and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't get into Shiratorizawa. Karasuno is nothing, they are no one, and crushing genius talent will be the proof he needs that nothing can compare to blood and sweat and tears, shed until his body is empty.

It's not until after he makes the condition that Tobio set during the practice match that the thought that Karasuno likely already has an official setter crosses his mind. All the more reason to prove that genius is nothing.

He doesn't make most of the match; trained too hard in anticipation and strained his knee to the point that not only Iwa-chan yelled at him, but the rest of the third years and the coach, too. It doesn't matter. He trusts in his team, knows that they are more than enough to take down a team of flightless crows. Even though they do not win, the intent has been made, the gauntlet has been thrown. We have worked hard; in the end, we will rule the court.

As they leave the court, his eyes trail over the Karasuno members on the bench and he wonders. There is none of the frustration on any of their faces he would expect at having to be replaced for an entire game, at being pushed aside. He looks for the fire and anger he felt when he was asked to step off the court and cannot find a reflection of it and wonders if he was wrong.

He is not.

Sugawara Koushi is not a genius.

No team deserves more than one genius, in his opinion, and it's almost a relief to learn who Karasuno's third-year setter is. Now that he's looking, Oikawa can see the hunger in Sugawara's eyes, his desire to stand on the court and tie the team together and he wonders how he missed it before. It's always in the eyes.

The mood in the entire gym shifts as Sugawara steps onto the court, not just on Karasuno's side; Seijoh has been fairly relaxed, winding Karasuno up further and further. Sugawara snaps that back in an instant, and Oikawa starts to pay attention. 

It's clear from his sets that despite being textbook, clean technique, each ball is entrusted, rather than merely tossed. Oikawa sees glimmers of reflections of his own sets, of knowing what sort of ball is easiest for each spiker to hit, of hours spent watching and tossing and learning each jump until it is muscle memory to let the ball flick from his fingers in just the right direction for each member of the team. 

It is hard work and it is frustrating to see it used against him when his was supposed to be the side of digging in and climbing that unscalable wall.

Sugawara Koushi is a puzzle that must be solved.

In the end, he served his purpose perfectly; he changed the rhythm of play, made Karasuno even more unpredictable. He eased the team back into sense, even if in the end it does not matter.

Oikawa Tooru cannot get Sugawara Koushi out of his mind.

It's not difficult to figure out his routine, to make sure their paths crossed. The hardest part is timing the ends of both their practices - predicting when Karasuno's would let out and Sugawara would be on the bus home that Oikawa could also take (though not convenient) without cutting into his own extra practices. 

The first few times seem like an accident; they are weeks apart, and Oikawa flashes a brilliant grin Sugawara's way, who answers with a similarly blinding smile and a nod. And sits in the furthest seat available. Oikawa's timing becomes better and it seems less and less coincidental to the point that Sugawara finally sits in the open seat with a small sigh.

"Haven't seen you here for a couple weeks."

"Mmm. We were in Tokyo, training."

"Ah, so all of your third years are going to the Spring Tournament, then? How admirable!"

The laugh that earns him makes him feel as if the bus has jolted to a stop. It is similar - not the same, he can't admit that to himself - to the laugh he gives Iwa-chan when he asks about his knee. He only catches the last half of what Sugawara says, "...and really, we weren't ready to give up the court that quickly."

There it is. That hardened determination, so at odds with the rest of the image Sugawara presents, and Oikawa needs to know. How deep it runs, how far Sugawara will go. If there are as many layers as his to peel back before he knows Sugawara, knows _Koushi._

"How do you feel about karaoke?" He cuts in across whatever Sugawara was saying about their training camp and grins, propping his chin on his hand. "The place near the station has a decent student rate for this time of night." Sugawara looks appropriately taken aback before he recovers, faster than Oikawa would've liked to better be able to study his reactions.

"Ah, I'm not that great at singing; I do better in a group."

"That's fine! You can just listen to me sing until you feel comfortable; it's what Iwa-chan does all the time!" 

Sugawara shifts in his seat and Oikawa can't tell if it's discomfort or a conflict about saying yes. 

"If it's all the same, and it sounds like it would be, I think I'll just go home. Practice was tiring enough." 

The conversation turns back to volleyball, Oikawa schooling his expression into an amicable smile. It doesn't take long for it to relax into something closer to real, though; Sugawara is insightful and sharp, and they trade opinions on the other teams in the area, punctuated by stories until Sugawara stands, abruptly, thumb slamming the call button.

"Ah, shit, this is my stop. Have a good night, Oikawa-san."

The bus rides continue like this, stories becoming less about their teams and more about them as the meetings become more and more frequent. Oikawa invites Suga to karaoke every time, though at least now he gets a smile and a small shove as a denial.

The misses get more frequent as the Preliminaries come, with both of them missing as Sectionals approaches until one day a couple weeks before. Their conversation is nonsensical - about cafeteria food, for all Oikawa can remember. His attention is on the determination in Suga's eyes, at odds with his words, but he brushes it off as anticipation for the fight to come. As they near Suga's stop, he leans forward, words already on the tip of his tongue to make his customary invite when Suga leans forward instead.

His lips fall apart as Suga's leave them, the determination in Suga's eyes replaced by an indomitable sparkle.

"I know this isn't your bus, Oikawa." He tilts his head, eyes softening just a touch as he watches Oikawa's shocked expression. "Don't think this means we won't defeat you at Sectionals, though!" With a wink, he's gone into the night, and all Oikawa can do is slowly lean back in the seat and start to laugh.

He's looking forward to Sectionals. In the end, after all, hard work will win out.


	4. Nijimura/Akashi, Fate AU, E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/7182.html?thread=2555150#cmt2555150
> 
> Fate-verse AU, where Nijimura has summoned Akashi as his servant in the Holy Grail War  
> (optional: they fight against the other 6 masters who have also summoned MiraGen members)
> 
> And then everyone realized that fate is my other weakness

“Saber, I need to speak with you.”

The air shimmers as Akashi materializes, and Nijimura’s eyes narrow as he takes in his state. The fight with Lancer and his master had rough for both of them, Nijimura at a disadvantage unable to utilize his specialty of more physical magic, even though the Clock Tower had tried to train it out of him, and Akashi’s magic resistance of little use against Lancer, as much like magic the way he’d been able to match Akashi almost thrust for thrust with his short spear might have seemed. It had been leading towards a draw, both teams becoming exhausted the longer it dragged on. Neither had been expecting the appearance of a slight Servant at the side of their battle, or the way he quickly slipped in between them and had disabled them both; a few well-placed jabs had disrupted the magic circuits connecting both muscle control and weapons. Nijimura’s magic wasn’t concentrated or strong enough to dispatch of a Servant or Master on its own, and it was clear by the way Lancer’s master glared at him his wasn’t either. All four of them were at the mercy of the Servant who stared at them, stance relaxed and almost unthreatening, as if he hadn’t just come in and brought two powerful Servants down in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, the magus selected by the Mage’s Association taken down so early in the War, not when he’d even managed to summon a Saber-class servant. But his relief mingled with anger as a man in the shadows called Assassin back. Ration said they needed to retreat, recover, repair. Pride said they were being made fun of, that they weren’t worth the time it would take to fight. 

In the time it had taken to look for Assassin’s master, finding only tall, broad shoulders, and dark hair impossible to discern whether it was red or black in the shadows, Lancer and his master had taken the chance to retreat. About to do the same, Nijimura realized Assassin and Akashi were staring at each other, something he could almost call regret in Assassin’s eyes. And then he was gone, slipping into the shadows as easily as he’d appeared in the first place.

“I knew him.” Akashi’s voice brings Nijimura back to the present. His hand is cradled against his chest, and Akashi is staring at the wall rather than Nijimura, the expression in his eyes as far away as his voice. Not for the first time, Nijimura regrets not paying more attention during the summoning, not catching that the ritual had slipped out of his control and activated, spurred by a slight nosebleed exhaustion had brought on. Akashi's scattered memories hadn't been a detriment so far; his abilities were intact, and that was what mattered. But the pain in Akashi's eyes is something he doesn't know how to remedy.

“He seemed to know you too.” He pauses, taking in the way Akashi’s good hand is clenched around his arm, the knuckles starting to whiten. “Who is he?”

Akashi merely shakes his head. “It won’t make a difference. He is the shadows, and knowing his identity won’t give any advantage. Even if you’re looking for him, your awareness isn’t strong enough.” Nijimura gets the sense that Akashi isn’t using a general ‘you’ but speaking specifically to him. His eyes narrow, but Akashi had offered his identity quickly enough upon summoning, and the distant look that remains in Akashi’s eyes makes him want to trust him in this. There's more to the story, clearly, but Nijimura gets the sense that Akashi is still piecing it together himself.

Instead of prodding, he sighs and reaches out his hand. “Let me see that.” While his specialty and training had only skimmed the surface of reconstructing magic circuits, it was still better than leaving Akashi to heal naturally. Neither of them had the luxury of time, not to mention the strange way his gut tightened watching Akashi move through the pain a blocked magic circuit must be causing him. Akashi’s hand is unnaturally warm in his for a magical entity, driving home the summoning magic of the Grail, the realness of the body before him.

He closes his eyes, letting his awareness spread out, following and tracing the path of his magic, tied intrinsically with Akashi’s. He can feel his shoulders relax, the tension from the fight seeping out of him as he flows through the order and alignment of the circuits. He can feel the power of the magic within Akashi, and not for the first time, he’s in awe of the raw potential before him. It’s a little shocking to him that he was able to summon such a strong Heroic Spirit, much less be in control of it. At times, he feels like he should let Akashi take the lead, but strangely enough to him, Akashi seems content to let him take the lead. It’s the respect and trust he can sense that washes over him as he continues through the circuits, coming to the block. He can feel both of them breathing in tandem, the magic in the air almost tangible with each pull of air. On the third breath, the block shifts, the circuits realigning and the air becoming impossibly more charged as Akashi’s power bleeds into his own.

Magic shivers down Nijimura’s spine as he comes back to himself, eyes slowly opening to meet Akashi’s gaze burning into him. 

“Thank you.” The words hover between them, soft like the feel of Akashi’s hand still in his.

“It...it was nothing.” Nijimura’s throat is dry, the use of his magic leaving him feeling scattered. He was always aware of Akashi, their magics tied together, the basic of a Master and Servant relationship, but he can all but feel the magic pulsing in Akashi now. It makes him sharply aware that the magic is lower than it should be, lower than the overwhelming force he’s come to expect.

“You still need to heal. Your energy is still low.” His thumb brushes over Akashi’s hand, implicit permission as he doesn’t break eye contact. It had surprised him, the first time that Akashi had suggested it, after a fight with Caster that even with the class advantage had forced Akashi to use most of his stores of magical energy to combat and block Caster’s long range magic, unnaturally precise in its aim, picking out the weak points in Akashi’s guard with the instructions of his Master. Nijimura had heard story after story of magi hunted for their blood, the magic absorbed naturally in the fluid making it powerful. It made sense, with Akashi’s sense of magic more ancient than his own, and as Akashi explained, it was more efficient, easier to replenish than blood. But it still gave him a strange thrill each time, even now as Akashi’s other hand traces down his chest, lips pressed to the pulse point at his throat, breathing in the magic that thrummed between them.

The magic gave an extra spark to each touch, electrifying the feel of Akashi’s hands pushing his shirt up, and Nijimura can’t help but shiver. Akashi had said skin contact helped increase the transfer of magic, and Nijimura couldn’t find it in himself to argue. Not now, not with the way the trail of Akashi’s lips on his skin leave goosebumps in its wake. He wants to reciprocate, but the look in Akashi’s eyes when he took Nijimura’s hands and placed them back on the couch makes him stop, swallowing around a lump in his throat. 

“Are you sure?” The words seem tight, breathy as they eek out past his throat. The heat in Akashi’s eyes does nothing to loosen his throat, or his pants, for that matter. The first time he’d seen that small smile play across Akashi’s lips, he’d been just as stunned, and now was no different, his head spinning with the feeling of it.

“You said it yourself, I need to heal. And there’s no better way to do that then replenish my stores of energy. Food will be too slow, and this is much more enjoyable.” The Saber class’s sense of insatiability _was_ legendary. Nijimura just never thought it would manifest in a situation like this.

His hand rises again, and Akashi watches its path, relaxing as it heads towards his hair instead of his clothes. He leans into the touch, his eyes closing doing more to catch Nijimura’s breath in his throat than the display of his Noble Phantasm. His hand follows as Akashi leans forward, hands moving to undo Nijimura’s pants. He’s hard, already, unsurprisingly, but Akashi merely smiles, as if it is unexpected and there is nothing he wanted more from this moment. 

“Aka... _ah_ ,” Nijimura gasps at the first, light touch of Akashi’s lips, not on his cock, but the skin beside, mouthing his way down to his balls before finally pressing a kiss, open-mouthed to the side of his erection.

Akashi hums, the pleasure in the sound all but tangible. “You smell good, like strong magic. Like power.” Like victory. He licks his way up Nijimura’s cock, sucking lightly as he reaches the tip, and Nijimura’s eyes cross. He’s concerned for a moment that he’s hurting Akashi with the way his hand tightens in his hair, but it seems to spur Akashi on, his head starting to bob. Nijimura can feel his hips start to lift, wanting to drive into that warm heat. He can feel the way his blood heats, as if the magic energy absorbed within it is responding to the treatment, surging to transfer between them. It gives him an idea, and instead of focusing on keeping his hips still, he casts out his magic and awareness yet again, following the threads of it to Akashi.

Both of them gasp, and Nijimura shivers as Akashi pulls off, the air around them startlingly cool against his spit-slicked cock compared to the heat he can feel thrumming through them both. Their threads of magic are tangled around each other, but they are concentrated in the places they’re joined physically - Nijimura’s hand in Akashi’s hair, Akashi’s hand against Nijimura’s hip, and especially as Nijimura’s focus starts to blur again, Akashi’s mouth, back against his cock. 

He was already hard - Nijimura thinks it would be physically impossible not to be with someone like Akashi going down on him, magic or no - but the involvement of his magic, the awareness of all the ways they’re tied together, brings him to panting faster than anything has a right to, groans spilling from his lips almost as frequently as Akashi pulls gasps from his throat.

The moment his cock hits the back of Akashi’s throat, tight heat enveloping him so that his eyes cross and his mind blanks out for a moment, he cries out, Akashi’s name on his lips as a warning. He’s close, dangerously so, and though he knows the end goal as well as Akashi, a warning is only fair. Akashi’s eyes flick up to met his, and he edges even further to that peak, magic pulsing and heightening the sensation of each pass of Akashi’s tongue. His hand strokes down the side of Akashi’s face, thumb tracing the way Akashi’s cheeks fill out around his cock. It’s the smirk he can see in Akashi’s eyes that tips him over the edge, the way that his eyes glint as he sinks down that final inch of Nijimura’s cock as his throat opens. It’s the same way his eyes glint at the beginning of a battle he deems a good match, the surety that he will win. It’s what endeared Nijimura to him, the first time that he thought that this could indeed be a partnership, rather than simply a means to an end. He comes with a shout, Akashi’s name so loud he’s sure the neighbors hear. 

He’s only human; he can’t help the weak twitch of interest as Akashi pulls back and licks his lips, catching a small trail of come that has escaped, chasing the trace and taste of magic that he so clearly enjoys. 

Already, Akashi’s presence is brighter to his sense, even though Nijimura himself feels boneless. Akashi nudges him to the side, fitting against him on the couch and curling up on Nijimura’s chest. 

“Are you sure you’re good?”

Akashi simply hums in response. “As I said, skin-to-skin contact helps stabilize and increase energy transfer. This is all I need.” Nijimura can’t help a small niggle of guilt, but the way Akashi nuzzles against him like a sated cat and the warm glow of his magic eases his worry.

He may not have been the likely choice for the winner of the Grail War, but in this moment, with Akashi by his side, it all seems possible. Working together, they can do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone even cares, because I'm slightly crazy about Fate AUs, this is most closely a 4th War parallel. Lancer is Kise, Caster is Midorima, Assassin is Kuroko, and those not appearing in this snippet are Aomine as Archer, Momoi as Rider, and Murasakibara as Berserker. There's a chance I'll write out the rest of the outline at some point if there's any interest, lmk! There's also an outline for a Grand Order parallel of the Orleans chapter, with the dual Akashis, in Ruler class, of course, just because I don't know how to let well enough alone and step back from AUs


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